Secrets Best Unkept
by ElegantButler
Summary: Bryce is Network 23's brightest employee. So why would he endanger his brilliant mind and his career on a drug that's worse than crack?
1. Bitter Angel

Max Headroom - 20 Minutes Into the Future

Secrets Best Unkept

"Shut up, Max," Bryce said, bitterly, as he did his best to hide the fact that he'd just been crying.

"Really? Is that any way to talk to a friend." Max inquired. "And what is that stuff?"

Bryce looked down at the needle he was holding. "It's nothing, Max," he said, gritting his teeth against the pain of the injection. "Don't worry about it. God, I wish it would last."

Max had been over everyone's records at Network 23, and he was positive that Bryce wasn't a diabetic. So what, he wondered, was in the injection that the young genius had just given himself.

Whatever it was, it didn't seem like it was working properly. Bryce had barely pulled the needle out of his arm before he slumped sideways off the bed and lie on the floor, twitching and grasping the blanket's edge with his trembling hands.

Realizing that this was probably not a good thing, Max raced to Murray's vu-screen.

"Bryce is in trouble," he said. "You'd better get up there pronto! He took this stuff and now he's having some kind of seizure or something."

"What stuff?" Murray asked, alarmed. Surely Bryce wasn't wasted. Why would someone with his intellect even think of doing drugs?

"I don't know," Max said. "Some kind of injection."

Murray wondered which drug Bryce had taken. He wondered how much. Was it an overdose? Was their young friend dying even as Murray rushed to his side?

Reaching Level 13, Murray ran into Bryce's studio and over to the now-shuddering teen.

"Bryce," he said, pulling the blanket on top of Bryce and wrapping him in it. "Hang on, Bryce. Max, tell Dr. Duncan we need him in here now."

"m'fine," Bryce muttered. "s'okay. Just lemme be. It's better like this."

"The hell it is," Murray said, angrily. "What the devil made you even think of taking this shit? What is it anyhow?"

"Just a few drops. Nothing to worry about…" Bryce said, sounding like it was something to be very worried about. "Bitter Angel s'all. Okay?"

As Bitter Angel was the angel dust what crack was to cocaine, Murray decided that 'nothing to worry about' was exactly the wrong description for the drug.

"No, it's not okay," Murray said as Dr. Duncan arrived. "Bitter Angel," he said. "I don't know how much. He says a few drops, but I don't know if I trust him under the circumstances."

Dr. Duncan frowned. "I can give him something for the side effects. But we need to get him to the medcenter for detox. Depending on how long he's been taking this, they might recommend psychological counseling."

"If they don't, I'm going to," Murray said. "Why would a kid as smart as him do something like this?"

"There are many reasons and I don't like any of them," Dr. Duncan replied as he freed one of Bryce's arms from the blanket and injected the new medicine into him while Murray called for an ambulance.

Bryce stopped twitching and lie still, breathing softly as they waited for the ambulance to arrive.


	2. The Angel's Curse

-Chapter 2: The Angel's Curse-

"How is he?" Murray asked as soon as the doctor approached him.

"He's lucky you found him when you did," the doctor said. "There's no permanent brain damage."

"So there is some brain damage then?"

"Nothing obvious. Temporary loss of fine motor skills and possibly partial blindness in one or both eyes. Partial amnesia. The last is rather expected as Bitter Angel is what the street kids call a brain locker."

"Why would someone as smart as Bryce want to lock his brain? What is he running from?" Murray wondered aloud.

"Maybe they'll find out during his stay at the rehab center." the doctor replied. "I'm going to recommend a minimum stay of two months with intensive psychotherapy. We'll get to the bottom of this problem."

Cheviot rushed in. "Where's Bryce? What happened?"

"Bryce is resting, sir." Murray said, looking to the doctor for help. He didn't want to be the one to tell Cheviot that Network 23's resident teen genius had nearly overdosed on a dangerous narcotic.

"Dr. Reynolds," the doctor introduced himself. "Murray and your onsite physician Dr. Duncan called for an ambulance about fifteen minutes ago. Bryce was found in a state of seizure following an injection of Bitter Angel."

"What the hell is he taking Bitter Angel for?" Cheviot demanded, absolutely furious that anyone as smart as Bryce could do something so incredibly stupid.

"We don't know yet, sir," Murray said. "The doctor was just recommending rehab for a couple of months."

"I want him there longer than that," Cheviot said. "He's got about four months worth of vacation time due to him. I want Bryce to get as much help as he can. In the mean time I want answers. I want the rest of your team to find out what happened that made Bryce feel he had to resort to drugs instead of talking to his friends."

Bryce screamed in the other room.

Murray, Cheviot, and Dr. Reynolds hurried into the room.

A nurse was hugging Bryce and stroking his hair.

"Shh… shh.. calm down."

"Blind… I'm blind.." Bryce was sobbing. "Can't see anything."

"It's just temporary," Dr. Reynolds told him. "From the drug you gave yourself. I'll pass in a few hours."

"Surely you knew that's one of the side-effects," Murray inquired.

"No, I never checked." Bryce admitted. "Who are you anyhow?"

"You took an illegal street drug without even knowing the potential side-effects!" Cheviot exploded. Amnesia or not, Bryce was going to get a piece of his mind. "Are you insane? Do you have any idea of the damage that could've caused? You're lucky you got out of it with just a few temporary setbacks."

"I'm sorry, but I haven't a clue who you are." Bryce admitted.

"That's one," Cheviot said. "We've talked it over and you're going to a rehab center."

"I…"

"This isn't up for debate, Bryce," Cheviot told him.

"Mr. Cheviot is right," Murray said. "You need help. You've got about four months of paid vacation due to you. So you are going to stay in rehab for at least that long."

"I don't need rehab," Bryce said.

"How long have you been taking Bitter Angel, Bryce?" Cheviot asked, his tone demanding honesty.

"I don't remember," Bryce replied.

"Doctor?" Murray asked.

"The toxicology results we got back suggest he's been taking it for about a month."

"Jesus wept," Cheviot whispered, realizing that his youngest employee was most likely addicted.


	3. Westforth Clinic and Dr Strauss

-Chapter 3: Westforth Clinic and Dr. Strauss-

The Westforth Clinic was located at Westcliffs-on-Sea at the former Southend Maxim's Casino and adjoining Genting Club. Both had gone out of business during a particularly nasty financial crisis, and had ironically been bought out by a medical concern which had been treating the very type of people that casino had been busy creating.

The clinic's director was Dr. Ellington Strauss.

Dr. Strauss had been living in Westcliffs-on-Sea for about twenty years. He'd spent the first five years of his medical training in the field of dentistry, wanting to hang a shingle in the family business. But a year before he was slated to graduate, his friend Peter's son Richard had lost his life to a heroin addiction. Watching his friend's subsequent deterioration, Ellington was determined to help him.

The more he looked for ways to help his friend, the more he ran into people who either meant well and had no idea what they were doing, or straight up dog-and-pony quack-salvers.

On the other hand, he had learned from talking to his friend and the other clients at many of the better locations which treatments worked and didn't work for them. And in the end, he had realized that he wanted to go into the field of drug rehabilitation psychology to try to put what he had learned to good use.

On this particular morning, the current residents were taking breakfast in the cafeteria.

The felt had been removed from the card tables, and the tops had been stained a deep shade of pine to match the legs.

The large croupier's booth had been converted to a mini kitchen where a small fridge held the milks, creamers, sugars and Stevia, as well as clotted cream and preserves for the tea and scones that were served at breakfast and elevens.

Dr. Strauss had always believed that setting up a positive daily routine was a great foundation for those who truly wanted to move away from drugs.

Most of the day wasn't overly structured. He felt it important to encourage his guests to find their strengths and talents and to build their days according to them. This was, he felt, more conducive to a full recovery than having someone else pick out what they thought might work.

"Good morning, Rita," he said to a slightly chunky girl of about eighteen, "plain scone this morning? Or is that cinnamon?"

"It's only plain until I put the clotted cream on," Rita laughed. "Jacaranda got the last cinnamon scone again."

"When you get stuck with a name like Jacaranda," a tall, wiry girl who was also about eighteen said, taking a bite of her scone, "you take all the victories you can get."

Three boys, ages fifteen to nineteen, joined them.

The oldest boy sprinkled a bit of Stevia into his tea, in contradiction to which he nearly drowned his raisin scone in clotted cream. "Morning, all."

"Morning, Greg," Jacaranda waved her scone to him.

"The last cinnamon again?" Greg asked. "Hey, does anyone else here remember what cinnamon scones taste like? Lucas, what about you?"

Lucas shook his head. "I didn't realize they still made scones like that."

"What's a scone?" asked the youngest boy there, a seventeen-year-old boy with the misfortune of having a Ghostbusters' fan for a mom and an uncle named Skyler.

"Oh come on, Egon Skyler Gray," Jacaranda said, relishing the name which was the only one there worse than hers. "You know what a scone is. You've seen them in picture books."

"Hey, Egon, have you heard?" Lucas said. "You're not gonna be…"

"Going to be," Dr. Strauss corrected him. "Remember, a proper vocabulary…"

"... is an important foundation for a proper life." they group recited together.

"You're not going to be our Little One anymore. We got one coming in today who's only sixteen. That beats you by a year."

"So, when…?"

"He'll be arriving at processing in an hour," Dr. Strauss told them. "So we'll have our morning meeting just a little late so that he can participate."


	4. Rehab Check-in

-Chapter 4: Rehab Check-in-

Bryce was far from overjoyed to be entering a rehab clinic It wasn't the type of place that he'd ever seen himself attending. He wasn't an addict, after all. Addicts, from what he had always understood, took recreational drugs for recreational uses. He had a valid reason.

Didn't he?

Admitted, he could no longer remember why he'd started taking Bitter Angel. But that didn't mean there hadn't once been a reason for it. And maybe he didn't want to remember. Wasn't that the point?

"How long have you been taking drugs?" Dr. Strauss asked him.

"Already been asked," Bryce shrugged, despondently. He was really not in the mood to answer questions right now. He just wanted to sleep. He'd been up all night at the hospital, the doctors concerned about him slipping into a coma from the drug. Or worse.

"Not by us, young man,"

"Can't you just look at their paperwork then?" Bryce snipped. "I want to sleep."

"You can sleep tonight," Dr. Strauss said, firmly. "Right now, we have to do your intake. And yes, I can get your paperwork. However, I feel that some of the questions should be answered by you, to show me that you understand that you have a problem that we need to help you with. So, how long have you been taking drugs?"

"The drugs have pretty much messed with my memory a bit," Bryce finally admitted, "but the lab results say about a month."

Cheviot, who was with him, nodded in confirmation and Dr. Strauss wrote it down.

"Which narcotic are you using?"

"Why?" Bryce asked, sarcastically, "Are you giving out free samples?"

"You will soon come to realize that I don't find jokes like that to be funny or appropriate for this clinic." Dr. Strauss said, firmly. "Which narcotic?"

"Bitter Angel." Bryce told him, suddenly rubbing his eyes and blinking a bit.

"Strobing?" Dr. Strauss asked.

Bryce nodded.

"What is that?" Cheviot asked.

"If an addict is temporarily blinded by Bitter Angel," Dr. Strauss explained, "the blindness is often followed by occasional flashes in the vision. Like aftershocks following an earthquake. It usually takes a day or two to pass completely."

He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a pair of wraparound sunglasses. The kind optometrists used after dilating the pupils, and handed them to Bryce.

"These will protect your eyes from any retinal damage until they're back to normal."

Bryce put the glasses on. "Thank you."

"Now, where do you attend high school?"

"I don't," Bryce replied. "And I'm not a drop out. I graduated in the year 2000 from the Academy of Computer Sciences."

"Bryce here has been working for me and my network since that point. It was one Network 23's other employees who made the discovery of Bryce's drug abuse."

"I see," Dr. Strauss said. "Means you're very clever."

"True," Bryce admitted, proudly.

"Well, Clever Boy," Dr. Strauss said, "let me be very clear on this matter. Use your smarts to your advantage. Work with us to help solve the riddle of why you're here, and all will be well. Use them to try and pull a fast one, and you'll have to build up a trusting relationship with us from scratch. And that'll hurt nobody but you."

"Yes, sir," Bryce sighed.

"Well," Dr. Strauss said, handing Bryce the paperwork he'd been writing down as they spoke, "if you would just sign here."

Bryce signed his own name, muttering "David Bowie.."

"Nice to have you aboard, Mister Ziggy Stardust,"

"No Aladdin Sane?" Bryce raised an eyebrow.

Dr. Strauss made a dismissive gesture. "Overused." he said. "And since right now you look a bit unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed, I will have one of our residents show you to your room so you can put away your things and freshen up. Then he will escort you to our morning meeting which will be starting in ten minutes. Please wait here for a moment."

Dr. Strauss left the room to fetch whoever was going to bring Bryce to his new room.

"He seems like a nice man," Cheviot said.

"Yeah," Bryce admitted. "But why didn't he just bring me to my room?"

"The person who's bringing you is probably your roommate."

"Roommate?" Bryce groaned. "I don't.."

"You'll just have to get used to it," Cheviot told him. "It's a normal part of life, sometimes, to have a roommate. Didn't you have one at ACS?"

"No. I was completely alone outside of classes,"

Cheviot sighed and wondered if the drugs might've been an escape from the constant loneliness. "Well, it'll be a new experience for you."

"I don't really need this…"

"We're not going through that argument again, Bryce," Cheviot told him. "You're addicted to Bitter Angel whether you want to admit it or need help right now and Network 23 is not the place where you're going to get that help."

"But this place is miles away from all my friends," Bryce complained.

"You'll make new ones," Cheviot said as Dr. Strauss walked in with a boy who didn't look much older than Bryce.

"Bryce Lynch," Dr. Strauss said, cheerfully, "this is your roommate, Egon Skyler Gray."

"Well, at least he was named after the smart Ghostbuster," Bryce said in a theatrical whisper to Cheviot.

Egon stuck his tongue out at Bryce. "Come on," he said. "I'll show you to our room. Then we'll go to the group meeting hall. I bet you can't wait to meet the others."

Bryce followed Egon out of the office and down the hall.

"So, which high school?"

"ACS. Class of 2000, actually."

"No shit! Really?" Egon exclaimed.

"Egon!" a woman admonished.

"Sorry, Dr. Edgecomb," Egon apologized. "Just impressed."

"Please be impressed using more appropriate words." Dr. Edgecomb said. "Remember what Dr. Strauss always says."

"Yes, ma'am." Egon said, continuing down the hall with Bryce in tow.

"What Dr. Strauss always says?"

"Yeah," Egon told him. He recited, as though he were a professor giving a lecture "A proper vocabulary is an important foundation for a proper life."

He stopped walking. "Well, here we are."

Bryce walked into the room. "I guess it's okay," he said, placing his suitcase down on one of the beds.

"Other one," Egon said. "That's mine. We'll sort out the unpacking later." he added as Bryce moved the suitcase. "Right now, we need to get to group."


	5. Introductions All Round

-Chapter 5: Introductions All 'Round-

Dr. Strauss walked into the meeting room on the first floor of the former Genting Club. From the floor above, he could hear the noise of the exercise machines that had long ago replaced the old roulette wheels and slot machines.

"Jacaranda," he said, "who's on the machines?"

"Ira and Cleo, I think," Jacaranda said.

"Go tell them the meeting is about to start," Dr. Strauss instructed.

Jacaranda eyed Bryce appraisingly. "So, this is the new guy. Cute I guess. Not really my type."

"Sorry," Egon told Bryce. "She likes the emo-goth types."

"Goth?"

"Vampire fans," Egon explained. "Where've you been?"

"Research and Development. Network 23," Bryce explained with a shrug. "And why would someone be a vampire fan?"

"Vampires are, like, drop dead sexy. That's why."

"They're what?" Bryce blinked, suppressing a shudder.. "They're ugly. Nosferatu. Bela Lugosi? Ugh!"

"You've been living in a TV network and you never saw 'Fangs and Bangs'? That series about the vampire hair-metal group?"

"The one that every teen in the world except you is just really going ape over?"

"Sorry," Bryce apologized. "Guess I was just busy being a bit more evolved."

At Network 23, Edison was furious. "What do you mean you can't tell me where Bryce is?"

"Bryce has a right to his privacy," Murray argued. "Just trust me when I say that he is going to be all right. "

"I want to know where he is, Murray," Edison demanded.

"Well this time the great Edison Carter isn't going to get his wish."'

"Why not just tell him about the d-d-drugs?" Max suggested.

Murray glared at the construct.

Edison just stared at him in disbelief.

"The what?"


	6. In Group

-Chapter 6: In Group-

"Okay, everyone," Dr. Strauss told the group as soon as they were all seated around the tables in the group area. "Honesty prevails in this group. First, we have a new guest. He's just arrived today so let's everyone introduce ourselves. Egon, since you've got a head start as his roommate, why don't you start?"

Egon nodded to Bryce. "Egon Skyler Gray," he said. He was petite in stature, lightly tan in color with friendly brown eyes. His wavy medium brown hair, complemented by blond highlights, reached his shoulders. "Car thief. Stole three cars on my block to finance my old PCP habit before I got caught."

Jacaranda was next. "Jacaranda Harris." She was of average height and slightly more than average weight, though most of it was muscle. She was pale in skin color, but had jet black hair in Jheri curls which contrasted with her pale blue eyes. "Never stole anything. But I totally freaked out my mom. She found me half-dead from a near overdose. Cocaine."

"Cleo Royce," the next girl said. She was an underweight girl with impossibly red hair and grey eyes that held the hungry look of the recently detoxed. "'ludes. Stolen from a narcotics museum on a dare. Cop found me tripping on a park bench."

"Excuse me," Egon said. "But isn't the idea of a narcotics museum kind of stupid? It's just begging to get broken into."

"There are also war and weapon museums," Bryce pointed out. "Does that mean we should expect people to start World War IV?"

"And you are?" Cleo asked him.

"Bryce Lynch, Head of Research and Development at Network 23. And busted recently for taking Bitter Angel. Though at this point the reason is a bit obscure."

"No surprise there," another boy spoke up. He was tall and burly and looked like he spent a lot of time working out. "Greg O'Neill. Light marijuana and not so light crack."

"Ira Baines," said a slim boy with dark hair and a hint of a moustache. Like Greg, he was tall and looked like he worked out, though his muscles hadn't built up so much bulk. "Also crack."

Another girl spoke up next. "Rita Myers," she said. "Marijuana possession with intent to sell. They put me in here to observe the consequences of what I do to others."

"And I'm Lucas Thorn," the last member of the group spoke up. "In for a little of everything. Plus auto theft like our pal Egon. You really with Network 23?"

Bryce nodded.

"Great," Lucas said. "When you get back, can you ask them to cancel that stupid Polly Show?"

"I'll see what I can do," Bryce shrugged. "But I'm going to be here for a while. Cheviot says I have to stay at least four months. Or however long it takes to work out what made me take Bitter Angel in the first place."

"Yeah," Greg said. "Why would a genius take a brain screw drug like that?"

"I was trying to forget something, I guess. And now they want me to remember and face it. It's like they're missing the point."

"Maybe they think facing it and getting away from the drugs is better than messing up your mind to forget about it." Dr. Strauss offered.

Bryce merely shrugged.


	7. Daily Activities

-Chapter 7: Daily Activities-

"If you'll come over here," Dr. Strauss said, leading Bryce over to a bulletin board. "On here is the list of our weekly activities. As you can see, we have exercise in the mornings, followed by elevens which happens every day. After that, we ask a couple volunteers to help in the kitchen each day making the lunch. Those who aren't asked to help in the kitchen will either go outside and tidy the yard, or they will help clean up indoors."

Bryce noticed that these and a few other activities were listed on the bulletin board which read:

MONDAY TUESDAY WEDNESDAY THURSDAY FRIDAY SATURDAY SUNDAY

08 breakfast -

09 group - worship

10 exercise -worship 11 Elevens -

11:30 Morning Chores -

12 Lunch -

1 Afternoon Chores -

2 Reading Noon Gp Sports Cooking Class Noon Gp Garden Choir

3 Free Time-

4:30 Kitchen Chores -

5:30 Supper-

6:30 Kitchen Cleanup -

7 Free Time

8 Quiet Time

9 Bedtime

"You have to sign up for the sports teams, cooking class and choir," Dr. Strauss explained. "The chores will be assigned regularly. You've got dusting duty today. I'll show you where the cleaning supplies are located."

Bryce nodded in acknowledgement and followed the doctor to the supplies closet. Inside were dust rags, furniture polish, brooms, and steam cleaners.

"Excuse me," Rita said, taking a broom from the closet and heading off to do her sweeping.

"What needs to be dusted?" Bryce asked.

"All furniture and surfaces," Dr. Strauss explained. "Plus you need to use the furniture polish on any wooden surface."

"That'll take forever!"

"There's not as much as there seems to be," Dr. Strauss told him as he handed Bryce two rags and the polish. "There's less time to finish today than normal. So do what you can for now and you can finish after lunch."

Bryce hadn't done very many household chores in his lifetime. Dusting, on the other hand, was something he did regularly as dust particles weren't very good for the computers in his studio. Plus they made him sneeze. He could learn the other chores by observing the rehab center's other clients.

As he started to dust, he tried to shut out a memory that was starting to nag at him. He didn't know what it was, but it felt painful and he knew he didn't want it. He hummed tunelessly to himself to drown it out.

Dr. Strauss listened and guessed what Bryce was trying to do. He wanted to encourage the memory, but knew that it was too soon. He had to be patient with this boy just as he was with the others.

"Need a hand?" Ira asked, joining Bryce with another rag and beginning to dust a nearby table.

"Kind of fancy isn't it?" Bryce inquired.

"This used to be a casino," Egon said as his sweeping chore brought him into the area. "Some financial problems closed it down. Dr. Strauss and his group bought it out. The doc says he likes it because the big windows let in a lot of light and really make it cheerful."

"Not a lot of televisions in here," Bryce observed.

"It's distracting," Ira explained. "There are TVs in the two break rooms. They can be viewed during free times."

"Who runs the choir practice?"

"Sister Mary Shephard," Egon told him. "You thinking of joining?"

"I might. What sports are available?"

"Just cricket for now," Lucas said, beginning to wash a nearby window. "You know how cricket is played, right?"

"Yeah," Bryce said, recalling a joke his American-born mother had once told him. "Bowl a ball. Sip tea. Defend a wicket. Nibble a scone."

"Something like that," Ira laughed. "You look pretty fit for a nerd. You ought to try out for the team."

"Maybe I will," Bryce said as he continued to dust, using the polish on the wooden tables.

Whatever memory had started to surface was gone.

For now.


	8. Fire Dream

-Chapter 8: Fire Dream-

The heat was unbearable. Hot smoke seared his lungs as he fought to crawl to the door. A door he could not find. All around him, he could hear the sound of glass exploding from the heat of the fire.

He tried to call out the names of the others there. But they stuck in his throat. Not Egon, or Ira, or any of the others in the center. This wasn't that place. It was another. A place he knew but could not remember. What was he doing here? What were their names? He had to call out to them. To reach them somehow.

He tried to call out to them, but there was no voice in him. Somewhere in another room, someone started calling his name.

"Bryce!" Egon shouted as he tried to awaken his thrashing roommate. "Bryce, wake up."

Bryce suddenly sat up.

"It's cold," he said, sounding relieved.

"Yeah. They like to keep the heat in here down to about sixty-eight." Egon told him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Sorry I woke you."

Bryce had been at the center for about a week, and he and Egon had become good friends in that time. When asked, once, what Bryce's favorite dream was, Bryce had replied that rather than dreaming he did mathematical equations and computations in his sleep."

"What happened?" Egon teased him. "You forget the fifty-seventh digit of pi?"

"No," Bryce admitted. "Strangely, I think I just had a dream for once."

"What was it about?" Egon asked.

"There was a fire and I couldn't find everyone."

"A bonfire?"

"No. The bad kind."

Egon looked seriously at Bryce. "That's not a dream. That's a nightmare."

Bryce nodded. "It was really scary. But the scariest thing is that I don't normally dream at all."

"Maybe it isn't a dream," Egon suggested. "Maybe it's the beginning of a memory. Why don't you talk to Dr. Anderson. She's supposed to be your therapist. Right?"

"Dr. Jill Anderson, yeah," Bryce recalled. "I'll talk to her in the morning."


	9. A Talk with Dr Anderson

Chapter 9: A Talk With Dr. Anderson

"Good morning, Bryce," Dr. Jill Anderson said, cheerfully. Her face fell, however, when she saw the dull, exhausted look on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Nightmare," Bryce replied, yawning.

"Why don't you tell me about it?" Dr. Anderson suggested. "Now that the drug's been out of you system for a week, it may be a part of your memory is starting to resurface."

"I don't remember a lot about it," Bryce admitted. "Just fragments. There was a fire. And I was trying to find someone."

"Were you in the fire or calling from outside of it?"

"I was in it. My lungs were hurting."

"Have you been in any fires recently?"

"No," Bryce shook his head. Something painful jogged his memory, nudging it just a bit, but that was all.

"What's wrong?" Dr. Anderson asked. "You flinched for a moment. Was it a memory?"

"Sort of," Bryce said, sounding bewildered. "But not a memory of words or images."

"A memory of the feelings you had about something?"

"I try to suppress those," Bryce admitted. "But yes. I think so."

"Why do you prefer to suppress your feelings?"

"It's hard to be professional about things if I let my feelings cloud my judgement."

Dr. Anderson frowned at Bryce. "So, why not let yourself indulge a little in some emotional involvement when you're not working?"

"I should've," Bryce said, darkly. "Maybe things would've turned out differently if I had."

"What things, Bryce?"

"I'm not sure," Bryce told her.

"Something to do with the fire in your dream?"

"I think so. But I'm not sure how the feeling is connected."

"Why don't you describe the feeling?"

"It's not sadness, but it's kind of like it. Like being sorry but you did nothing wrong."

"Regret?"

Bryce considered for a moment. He couldn't recall having felt regret in the past himself, but he had seen it played out on TV and the usual character reactions seemed close to his own. "Maybe. I'm not sure. But what would I have to regret?"

"That's something we're just going to have to wait to find out." Dr. Anderson told him.


	10. The Voice and Tears of an Angel

-Chapter 10: The Voice and Tears of an Angel-

"Okay, let me hear you," Sr Mary Shepherd said, turning her attention to Bryce.

Bryce tried, as most males do, to sing in bass. It was, it turned out, not his range and resulted in a short coughing fit. A few of the others in the room winced in sympathy.

"Try again," Sr. Shepherd instructed. "This time, don't force the range. Just sing in the rang that's most comfortable for you. You don't have to sound 'manly' just because you're a boy."

Bryce tried a few more times, until Sr. Shepherd stopped him.

"You're not going to reach the lower notes, no matter how hard you try," she told him. "I can see you straining each time you do. A lot of really good male singers have sung in the higher ranges in the past. You'll only hurt your voice if you force it into an octave it's not meant for."

Bryce tried once again, this time producing a bearable tenor. But it still wasn't quite right.

"Just a little higher. Half an octave." Sr. Shepherd instructed. "I think you might be a mid-ranger."

Bryce tried once again, this time producing a near perfect note. The pitch was slightly higher than the good Sister might have expected, but it sounded beautiful to her all the same.

"A beautiful contralto," she told him. "Well sung. In a slightly higher range than most male singers, mind you. So I'll give you a choice to think about. You can either sing with the other boys, or with the girls. You won't be judged in either case."

"May I have time to think on it?" Bryce requested.

"You have until Wednesday," Sr. Shepherd told him. "I want you and those you'll be singing with to have an extra day of practice then during your free period to get used to singing together."

Bryce smiled at her. "Thank you."

"You did sound pretty good in the end," Edison said from the doorway.

"Edison!" Bryce hugged his old friend and coworker. "When did you get here?"

"About ten minutes ago."

"You should've said something," Bryce said, blushing a bit.

"And miss out on your singing?" Edison shook his head. "You're going to sound great once you've trained a bit."

"Thanks, I guess," Bryce ran a hand through his hair, nervously, and smiled a little. "How are Murray and Theora?"

"They're okay," Edison told him. "We've been worried about you, though. Why would you take a drug like that? You could've fried that precious brain of yours."

"I was trying to forget something," Bryce told him. "Something about a fire. That's all I remember. I guess I'll remember exactly what some day, but…"

"Well," Edison said. "You weren't at the fire that happened at ACS so…"

Bryce's eyes went wide. Then they closed as though trying to shut out a painful memory.

"Bryce, you weren't even there." Edison reminded the teenager. Than he realized that Bryce must've seen the news footage. That he must've seen the twisted and burned bodies being pulled from the blaze.

Some of those who'd been there suffered only minor burns or smoke inhalation. But most had been pulled out of the reunion hall with third degree burns or worse.

Bryce sank to the floor, his back against the wall, and burst into tears.

Sr. Shepherd joined them, crouching beside Bryce and rubbing his back. "Even in grief, he sounds like an angel."


	11. From the Heart

-Chapter 11: From the Heart-

On Wednesday morning, Bryce was having breakfast in the cafeteria when Jacaranda and Ira approached him.

"We wanted to know if you decided who you wanted to sing with," Ira told him.

"Well, I've given it a bit of thought," Bryce said. "Though not a lot since I've got other issues to work on also. And I think that while I am a boy, my vocal range might sound better with the girls for the moment."

"Okay, then," Jacaranda said, smiling. "We'll get together during free time and practice. Also, think about something you'd like to express in song."

"What?" Bryce asked, cautiously.

"One thing we do as a form of therapy here is to sing what we are feeling. And not just that we are sad, or happy, or mad. But why we are feeling that way. Of course it doesn't have to be about specific people. Some things are too private. But lyrics like 'don't they drive you mad' or 'she always made me smile' are acceptable."

"Poetry isn't my strong point," Bryce warned.

"It doesn't have to rhyme, only be from your own heart."

"What if I don't sound good?" Bryce asked.

"That's why we practice," Jacaranda told him. "You should also practice during chore time. It'll speed up your improvement. Plus it will make the chores go by faster."

That evening, while the others were watching television in the two break rooms, Bryce went to his and Egon's room to work on his song for choir. He lay in bed on his stomach with an old fashioned pad of paper and a pencil. The nightmare had come the previous night also, so the memory of it had still been there when Jacaranda had spoken to him about the songwriting part of choir. As the words came, so did the tears.

By the time Egon joined him at lights out, he had cried himself to sleep.

The next day, Bryce walked into Dr. Anderson's office at his usual appointment time.

"When we last spoke," she said, "you were thinking of joining the girls' side of the choir because of your vocal range."

"I did," Bryce confirmed.

"Have you written your song yet?" Dr. Anderson asked.

"Just a bit of it," Bryce said. "I'm not ready to sing it yet, though."

"May I read it?" Dr. Anderson asked. "I'd like to see if there's anything in it that might help us to find out more about what you've forgotten."

Bryce shook his head. "I'm not ready."

"This fire we discussed the day after you saw Mr. Carter... is this song about that?" she asked.

Bryce nodded. "It happened at the Reunion Think Tank."

"Were you invited?"

"Yes," Bryce replied. "But I didn't go." he looked anxiously up at the clock. "Time's up," he said. "Isn't it?"

"We'll talk more about the fire next week," Dr. Anderson said, firmly.

Jacaranda and Rita were in the practice room when Bryce joined them after lunch.

"Have you written your song?"

"Some of it," Bryce admitted. "I don't how it'll sound."

"You'll sound like someone who's just learning how to sing," Jacaranda told him. "That's how we all sounded the first time we sang our own lyrics. Don't worry about the notes too much. We know this is raw material. Just sing the best you can for now."

Bryce nodded and began…

"My heart aches

I don't know why

I never thought

I'd feel anything at all

But why did it have to be this

Why do I feel the heat and the smoke

Why in my dreams do I burn and choke

When I wasn't even in the fire

What was the reason

Why?"

It was far from perfect, mostly because he got so choked up by his own tears that he had to stop singing twice. In the end, Bryce sat down on one of the chairs and wept into his hands.


End file.
